


say something like you love me

by laurelsalexis



Category: I Medici | Medici: Masters of Florence (TV)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Canon Compliant, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 12:54:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12233256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurelsalexis/pseuds/laurelsalexis
Summary: It's when she gives him a son his heart swells for them both.





	say something like you love me

**Author's Note:**

> I got on this Medici train very late but I am here & a little too invested & wrote a thing.
> 
> Contains some references to the flashback scenes.
> 
> Title from Believe by Mumford & Sons

The marriage between he and Contessina is the last thing Cosimo desires from the moment the idea is spoken to him by his father. _Idea_ as if he ever had a choice. He doesn’t have a choice. None of his life is his own choice. Such is life, he thinks some nights when he’s lying staring at the ceiling dreaming about what kind of life he could have had for himself. One so very different from the one he shares with Contessina now.

She’s fallen asleep and her body is warm against his own. He thinks about untangling himself from her embrace and moving to be anywhere else, but thinks he can give her these few passing hours. She doesn’t ask for all that much but he can feel her desire for them to be closer, or at the very least able to hold something of a proper conversation. It’s entirely unfair for him to freeze her out as he does.

Maybe in time it will get easier.

When his father tells him he’s going to Rome a relief washes over him. He doesn’t have to worry about Contessina. For a little while, at least. Long enough that he can pretend his marriage is an arrangement and he is free to live his own life as he sees fit. Rome is for business, of course, and he certainly won’t break the vow made before God because of his own dislike. It’s all something so foolish that it barely even makes sense to him as he walks into the room to pack for his trip.

He doesn’t give her a passing glance as he makes his way to the wardrobe. Doesn’t look at her much unless he has to. He can feel her eyes burning on him, however, and burn they do. It’s when she inquires about him leaving does he look up at her. His explanation is curt as ever, even if her beauty does strike him as it did when they met. He may not desire her but his body does.

That’s never been the problem.

It’s his lack of love that is the problem, the way his heart is held by another, his inability to let go. He is all too aware that it’s his own doing as he isn’t even _trying_. Being self aware does not always mean there is a solution to the issue at hand. It only gives him more excuses for his distance, ones no one accepts, but he makes all the same.

He feels betrayed, in a sense, by his own mother telling _his_ wife things she shouldn’t have. What he did in his life prior to his marriage means little or at very least is _another_ excuse he tells himself in order to rid himself of the guilt that overcomes him when thinking about how it all came to be. His anger is at his father and his mother, Contessina for not knowing when to bite her tongue, and somehow, finding himself in Rome is truly the best thing for everyone. Some time to move from his home that is feeling all too small with how many people are in it with their careful eye upon him. As if he is going to do something.

Perhaps it is because he is not doing anything. He’s working, of course, making certain to follow the orders given to him by his father. He listens when his mother speaks to him, listens to Lorenzo, shows the proper affection to his wife when in the company of others, visits her chambers when he needs to. It is all something of a bare minimum.

They all expect more out of him. If only he knew just how to give them all what it is they desire.

Rome doesn’t hold any of the answers but it holds a small amount of freedom that he craves so desperately the moment he kisses Contessina goodbye and mounts his horse.

His actions while in Rome aren’t so obvious he feels as if he is betraying his wife. He doesn’t go out in search of Bianca, no matter how desperately he wishes to. He wants to see her, to touch her, to kiss her, to fuck her. One more time. If he can do all of those knowing it is the last time he can find the proper closure he needs to make the union between he and Contessina something of a happy once.

Or so he tells himself.

Not that he knows what he’ll do if he actually finds her. To betray his wife in such a manner feels dishonorable and to ask her to be faithful to him? God would not look down at his sins with a forgiveness, would he? There is no one last time in the eyes of the Father and he cannot expect for him to turn an eye. He is married, whether or not he likes it, it is simply a truth he cannot escape.

It’s when that realization hits he stops his late nights wandering Rome hoping to accidentally run into Bianca and spends his nights in the prayer he needs to move forward with the strength he doesn’t have. A weakness he refuses to admit outside of his own mind.

He can be a better man.

His return is the true test of how much of a better man he can be. The night he finds himself back in Florence his home is filled with people his parents are hosting. He is instructed to be nice, charming, and to do his duty as a Medici. It’s the first event, outside of his wedding, he is a married man. Contessina finds her way to his arm and he parades her around, a smile that is too fake for his own good, but not fake enough for anyone to notice it is seemingly permanent upon his face. The eyes of everyone are not on him, he takes notice. They are on his beautiful, noble wife who seems to command the attention of any man within the room.

It unsettles him. The way they look at her as if she is not _his_ wife, on _his_ arm, holding _his_ last name, the future mother to _his_ child.

Whether or not the jealousy makes him a better or worse man is something he is uncertain of.

The jealousy that threatens to have him punch too many of the men in the room causes him to lead her to the center, pulling her close as they join the other couples dancing. His affection given without being forced to do so is something rare and he doesn’t feel offense to the look on her face.

“You look nice.” He offers the compliment as the eyes of his mother burn into the two of them.

“Thank you.” Her reply comes with a smile, glancing up at him. “As do you.”

Cosimo can sense her desire to say more. They do not know each other quite well and that is something that will only come with time. He does know she speaks her mind and only bites her tongue when the situation truly calls for it. He’s hesitant to admit he quite likes that quality about her. It will do their family well in the future. He only begins to wonder how far it extends before she speaks and his attention is placed upon her again.

“How was Rome?” Her grip is tighter on his hand as she tries to be polite.

For a moment he thinks he should not answer. “Well enough.”

“Did you see... _her_?”

Cosimo stiffens immediately, no matter how hard he tries to make it seem as if the topic at hand doesn’t bother him. The question is to expected, yes, but it does not mean he wishes to discuss her. “She is gone.”

Contessina nods. The distance remains between the two before she finds her words again. “I want to know.”

“If I had?”

“Then what they say of you may be truth.”

“And what is it they say of me?” He’s fishing then, curious and uncomfortable all in one. If he stops the conversation it won’t seem out of the ordinary as this is how he operates more often than not. Still, he doesn’t. Only breaks his gaze from hers to look at the others around the room. Some of them _actually_ seem happy. He wonders what that must be like.

“You are a cold fish.”

“Do you believe that to be true?” Cosimo glances down, making an attempt to read her face. “Do not bite your tongue now on my account.”

“You are displeased and angry.” She is confident in her assessment. Contessina’s eyes survey the room just as his did, only to find him again before she continues, “I only hope it does not continue for the duration of our marriage.”

Cosimo grabs her hand and led her to the hall, away from the prying eyes of many. “This is the only time we will speak of this.” His voice is hard, firm, unyielding.. “I did not see her. I will not see her. She is gone. I will not have you question my loyalty to you in this marriage. My mother has her own ideas and I would advise you to take her words with a grain of salt. You may think a mother has the interest of her children at heart, but my mother is not one of those.”

Contessina swallows, nodding as she had when they first met. “I wonder if the same should be said for your own words.”

He doesn’t speak. There’s a burn in his heart from the words she offers him. She has every right to think he is someone to not be trusted. It’s not as if he’s been kind to her, given her a reason to believe in him, only demands it when she moves out of the box he has told her to stay in. It doesn’t make the burn any less as his eyes narrow, just enough, his face not giving anything else away. He kisses her then, pushing her into the wall, finding his hand on her hip, digging into the flesh beneath the soft fabric of her dress.  “You frustrate me.”

She leans back against the wall as she attempts to catch her breath, looking at up with him with a look unrecognizable. “Take me.”

Her words are unexpected and he searches her face for hints of anything else. Only for a moment. His lips find hers all too easily and all of their frustrations with one another are being dealt with in the kiss, the way he grabs her skirts and hikes them up, the way her hands move to his breeches to pull him from the confines of them. Their kiss is messy and rough, teeth and not much else, almost as if they are at a war over anything else.

They should find her chambers, he knows. They are out of view of others but not far away that no one would dare come to look for them. Perhaps that is part of the fun, part of why he is so hard so quickly, and part of what makes it something he finds is happening too slow. He needs her now, needs to feel her around him, needs to thrust into her until neither of them can stand it any longer.

It’s far from duty. It’s _desire_.

He hikes her up and her legs move around his waist, back pushing to the wall, angling herself down. There’s no time to play games and he is finding himself inside of her the moment he can. His teeth sink into the bottom of his lip as he tries to keep quiet. The music is too soft for anything else. He’s not a slave to his desires, otherwise he most certainly would have found someone to take care of his needs while he was away in Rome, but there is something to be said now, here, as he is unable to do anything but think about the way the pleasure moves through his body.

Her arms move around his neck as she meets him for ever thrust, taking her own pleasure as much as she is giving it. It’s a sight and he wishes to tear her dress off of her so he can see more so his mouth can leave marks along her perfect skin, to bite into her flesh, to fuck her good and proper like he so desperately desires sometimes. It’s not much of a thought he held with Bianca. Contessina opens up something far different within him, something wilder, _darker_.

It’s not a desire to hurt her. No, never. Would never even think of it. Only to make her his, to make it so all of the other men in that room know she is his. Not just because they are married in the eyes of God but because it’s his cock driving into her sweet, perfect cunt, his seed will fill her, and if God has any mercy on him she’ll be with child for it.

He’s not here just to make a child though, not as his lips finding her neck. Kissing, sucking, grazing. Her owns hands are in his hand and tugging in ways that only send jolts of pleasure up his spine. Her moans are getting louder and it causes his hand to cover her mouth.

“Quiet. You do not want to disturb the guests.” The words are merely whispered into her ear with his own amusement.

She doesn’t do anything, however. Only moves with him, the sounds getting louder, though he suspects it’s because he is covering her mouth with his hand. A small act of defiance. Just as this moment is something of an act of defiance from himself. Yes, he wants her, yes, his moans are growing impossible to keep down, the desire burning in his belly, the need to release building in ways if he bites down any harder on his lip he’ll break the skin and draw blood. But it’s the location. The hallway for anyone to move through, for a servant to come and see something they shouldn’t, for his parents to find out he is actually doing the duty they press on about.

Without warning she tightens around him, squeezing him for all he’s worth, letting the pleasure rip over her. He watches her and thinks of anything to hold off, even if just for a few passing thrusts. She’s flushed and his hand has fallen away by the time he releases himself in her, his forehead resting on her shoulder as the waves of pleasure come over him, all of his frustrations washing away, even if only for a few moments.

Cosimo catches his breath before pulling out of her and glancing at her as they both find their composure. Her hair is ruined from the lovely style he knew she took time to do and she’s looking at him in a way he is unable to read.

“Lie down.” He offers more than he orders. “I’ll tell them you weren’t feeling well.”

Contessina nods and smiles, leaning up to give him a brief kiss. “Goodnight, Cosimo.”

As she walks away her hands rest over her stomach.

They can both only hope.

* * *

Cosimo finds work and faith far easier than marriage. It only takes a few nights before he chooses to throw himself into his work and do as his father wishes of him. Most often it consumes him more than it needs to as a myriad of excuses are on his mind about why he creates a distance between himself and everyone else.

At least it’s not only Contessina he is making an attempt to be free from.

He still doesn’t quite enjoy banking and wonders if he ever will. Not as long as he holds onto the bitterness of all that his father has taken away, using threats to keep him in place. He will abide by the wishes, knowing when his hand is lost. If nothing else he feels his skill for it remains true.

No one can accuse him of not taking it seriously when there are no failures on his record.

Even as he takes his work more seriously he does attempt to spend more time with Contessina. During dinner he finds himself seated next to her and listens as she speaks of things that hold little interest. A few of the tales from her childhood do manage to catch a smile. He knows quite a bit about her and she knows little of him. The tension is felt, though, with the way his mother looks at him with her narrowed gaze as if to not speak of anything to Contessina until it is a tale she wishes to share.

When he’s not looking he thinks his mother will tell his wife he murdered his twin out of vengeance, versus what actually happened.

He only hopes that Contessina will be a better mother to the children they are sure to have than his own.

Before the others have woken he finds himself in prayer, not wishing to disturb those, or give excuses as to where his time is being spent. He doesn’t see his father or his brother devote as much time to prayer. Not that he faults them, only that he needs it for himself, to find answers he cannot get elsewhere.

With the rosary his father gave him on the night of is wedding does he kneel, grasping it tightly, praying to the God above for so much.

Praying that the Medici will not fall and will be successful in their future endeavors.

Praying that Bianca becomes nothing but a distant memory that no longer haunts his memories.

Praying that Contessina finds herself with child.

A softer prayer that his mother can ease her animosity on them all.

That is one he knows will not be answered and the one he is most willing to let slip by.

* * *

Cosimo is something of an observant man. It’s how he notices the way in which he sees his wife less. It’s odd, given he is the only most often making excuses so he can keep his distance from her. Neither his mother nor his father are instructing him to seek her out for the sake of his duty, simply allowing to remain working into the late evening hours. Even the dinner he was late to did not receive harsh tongue from his mother, another oddity.

As his home goes quiet he thinks about inspecting the behavior of his wife. It’s late and he should retire for bed, only to remain seated at the desk. Ultimately he chooses to leave it be. He’s given Contessina enough reasons to avoid him, if it such a case. More than enough reasons. If she wants distance between them for whatever reason he is inclined to give it to her.

Such thoughts only last a few nights before he is walking down the hall to see the glow of the candlelight coming from her chambers. She is usually long asleep by now. Something he knows well, _too well_ , almost. He stops outside of her door and wonders if he should enter, inquire if something is bothering her. It could be a number of things but he is unsure what. A simple ask would solve it, but instead, he lingers, quietly.

“Cosimo.” She calls for him, softly, as to not disturb the others who are asleep within the home.

He swallows as he walks into the room, a nervous sense that he finds he dislikes immensely, coming over him “Are you unable to sleep?”

“No,” she answers with a shake of her head, “I am quite tired as of late, in truth.”

His brow furrows in a concern he wasn’t aware he held. “Are you feeling well?”

“As well as one can expect.”

Cosimo nodded as his hands drop to his sides. He thinks briefly about reaching out to feel her forehead, see if she is feeling under the weather. He doesn’t, only looks at her, follows the lines of her body in her shift, notice the book on the bed in her lap. The wall between them hasn’t seemed to crumble much, nor does he feel any more frustrated by her than he had weeks ago. Sometimes prayers are not answered in the way one thinks.  

“I am set to bare your child in the coming months.” She whispers as she clasps her hand in front of her, looking up with a softness in her eyes, lips on the edge of curving into a smile.

For a moment he watches her as the news processes within his mind. It’s almost as if he does not believe her. At least until a wide smile comes across his features, a rarity in the presence of Contessina, even rarer is the way he moves over to her, where she lies on the bed, and kisses her. “Truly?”

“Truly.” She whispers as a smile of her own appears, fully now, resting her hand over his own, guiding it to her stomach. “Your mother says when it is a son you can tell. I am not quite certain myself, but I do pray.”

“How long?”

“Your mother projects near the day of your own birth, though I have been told babies are quite difficult to project.” She’s careful in her words. “He will come when ready.”

He doesn’t stop smiling and he doesn’t wish to. A child. _Their_ child. No doubt ever found him that they would not concieve, only that it would take some time. Not too long that it was worrisome. There is no worry now, not as the hand not on her belly cups her cheek, feeling as if she became the most important person to him so instantly. She is, he thinks. She is to be the mother of his son. Something no one else has the luxury of. “Do you need anything?”

“I would like to sleep now, if that is alright.” She tries not to yawn with the words but ultimately fails. “If you would like to stay I would like that.

“Of course, Contessina.” He whispers, placing a kiss on her forehead. “I’ll stay.”

* * *

His outlook is different from the moment he hears the news. It’s _happiness_ , he realizes. Happiness that doesn’t come from Bianca or his art, but from Contessina and the growing child inside of her. He watches her differently now, as if there is a connection to her. Their shared nights are not just duty or getting frustrations out, they have come to mean something. A new life within her that ensures the line will continue on as it needs to. His father spoke of the future generations completing the things they set out to achieve and for the first time he understands it’s value.

He still wishes he could spend countless hours sitting and drawing, but there is something to be said for his need to make it so the Medici’s remain successful.

He is to have a son.

It’s impossible not to smile.

* * *

Contessina has never been one to look as if she is busting out of a dress. With the swell of her belly comes to the swell of her breasts and as she passes by him before dinner he cannot help but allow his eyes to linger, leaving his work to suffer for the moment. She only shows enough that it is noticeable she is carrying a child, enough that he can see the way her body is changing, the way she captivates him in a way he doesn’t quite understand. It’s normal his father assures him and he swears there was pride in his voice.

The previous night she told him she felt it was a son with more assurance in her voice and that she could most definitely feel the baby move within her. It makes him happy to think it is the truth. He will love a daughter, of course, something he tells her to make her not feel as if a son is the only thing that can bring him joy, but a son is what any man wants, is it not?

It’s only when the light green material of the flowing dress disappears around the corner do his eyes focus back on the parchment laid out in front of him. Business he needs to attend to, but not business he wishes to attend to.

It seems his affections and priorities have changed. He is quite unsure when that happened.

They still fight, a lot. About things that do not even matter. She rarely bites her tongue and somehow, he finds that endearing. It’s the baby inside of her his mother tells him one night when she overhears them and he comes walking out of the room. She reassures him nothing is truly wrong and that creating life is something he cannot possibly understand. He is caught so off guard by how much of a true mother she sounds he forgets that Contessina was even angry with him in the first place.

“I’m frustrated.” Contessina tells him one night as they lay in her bed.

He doesn’t spend every night with her but he finds his desire to watch over her and their unborn child to be something he cannot calm within him unless he is there with her. He doesn’t quite mind, only finds an adjustment. “Do you wish to be alone?”

“No.” Her answer is barely a breath after his last word is spoken.

He looks over at her, a barely there smile across his lips. She’s in her shift and has not been able to stop moving around for most of the night. It’s very unlike her. His wife is always the picture of composure, even as they grow more comfortable sharing certain moments together she is controlled and composed. “How long have you been frustrated?”

The glare she gives him is not unlike her, yet, one she doesn’t give often. “A few nights past.”

He finds his hand moving to rest on her thigh. “You’ve done nothing?”

“Cosimo.”

“Yes, Contessina?” There’s a feigned innocence to his voice as the tension between them shifts to something else entirely. She’s warm beneath his touch, soft, the added weight from her expanding body something he enjoys, wants to make sure know how she makes him feel. He’s held back at the suggestion of others, but it’s there, with the way she looks at him, knowing just what frustration she is feeling, he wants her to feel good.

She grips his hand silently and moves it so it’s settled between her thighs, instantly able to feel how wet she is. A smirk appears upon his face. It’s always been easy, these aspects, finding themselves together. His duty as a husband is to make it so his wife is satisfied, is it not? His eyes keep upon her as he spreads her legs apart, allowing his fingers to move along her, coated quickly in her, only not daring to give her what is she seeks, not yet.

Her teeth sink into the bottom of her lip, looking back at with something that can only be described as lust. Pure, unfiltered lust.

“Tell me, Contessina, how many I help alleviate your _frustrations_?”

She gasps just as his fingers brush over her clit, swollen with need, lifting the thin fabric that covers her body, just barely. “Keep doing that just _more_.”

He follows her instructions and allows his fingers to work her over, his hand moving to pull the strap off of her shoulder, pulling her shift down just enough to find one of her breasts exposed. His fingers find her nipple, teasing her, watching her as a wave of lust comes over him, letting her hips rock into him. She’s beautiful that way, so raw for him, letting the pleasure slowly began to work it’s way over her.

“Cosimo.” She moans softly as her hand move to him, palming against the hardness in his breeches.

It doesn’t take much for him to feel the burning desire, to feel the way he throbs for her, to take her, to have her, to watch her overcome with true pleasure. Not just the little bits he is giving her now. His mouth replaces his fingers on her nipple, taking her breast into his mouth, sucking and biting at her flesh, her nipple between his teeth tugging, her moan filling his ears.

“I need you inside of me.” She breathes out the words as she undoes his breeches, pulling him free and giving him a few passing strokes, her wrist twisting in the way that drives him mad, has to make him think of all of the saints in order to not get caught up in the waves of pleasure before feeling her around him.

He moves so he is lying on his back, pulling himself from her in a way he does not truly want. It’ll rectify itself soon, undoing the ties of his tunic to make it so he does not feel so confined. “Come here.”

Contessina rises to her knees as he guides her the rest of the way so she is over him, moving herself against his erection that only burns hotter. She is still wearing the fabric, covering herself from his view, making it so he can see the outlines of the changes, but not her.

She sinks herself down on him with a moan just as his hand finds her hip, letting the fabric pool over his arm, his fingers lighting digging into the skin. It’s a different sort of desire now, one that is passion and need, but there is no anger, there is no contempt, there is not so many things that plague them normally. Just something softer, something he can't explain, and something that till bring a child into this world sooner than not.

It’s for her, the pleasure. No to say he isn't enjoying it, because he is. The way he can watch as she moves along, disappearing into her tight heat that he can be slave to more often than not, the way her eyes close as she braces her hands on his chest and just takes. It’s her frustrations this time that are melting away by using him for her own pleasure. A hand slips between her legs and rubs, slowly at first, moving to match her pace as she takes what she wants, the hand from her hip finding the soft flesh of her ass and giving a squeeze.

There’s something so breathtaking in the  way she moves, feels as if she’s bouncing herself the way her long hair still curled from the day moves with her, her heavier breasts taking his attention. He wants to kiss her, to be buried in her neck, her chest, any part of her, to feel her more, closer, but he doesn’t do a thing. Only lets the orgasm wash over her as his eyes linger on her lips, the way her mouth opens, knowing how good that mouth feels around him, the moan of his name bringing a jolt to him that only has him follow behind.

She stops moving after a moment, a smile as she looks down at him, something different in her eye before she moves to lay herself next to him. “Piero,” she whispers, grabbing his hand and placing it over her stomach, “his name should be Piero.”

He can feel the babe move under his hand and instantly decides that is the best moment of the night. “ _Piero_ , it's perfect.”

* * *

From their shared night on where they decide on the name of their son he finds himself in her bed. Most nights she is asleep by the time he finishes his work, finds she sleeps far more often than not. If not she is consuming weird combinations of foods he doesn’t understand, but makes no comment of.

The look in his eyes say everything as it is.

There is a distance that remains between the two but also something that makes him feel closer. She brings his hand to her stomach so often than whenever he sees her he does it on instant, wrapping his arms around her to feel them both. She’s far more swollen than before, a sign that the birth is nearer, causing her to rest more.

His mother advises him to allow her to sleep on her own, taking note of their shared time, but when he asks Contessina about it she tells him she wishes he would stay, sleeps better with him there.

Whether it’s true or not he is unsure.

He gets so caught up in the work of the day he misses lunch and finds himself moving from the desk to the kitchen, putting something together with ease, not wishing to bother anyone else for the moment being. Bread is hardly a proper lunch, but he finds he wants to finish his latest task before the birth of his son.

Contessina doesn’t cry often and certainly not enough that she has to wipe the tears away, but that is exactly what he finds when he walks out of the kitchen to see her, inhaling sharply to keep her composure, but ultimately failing as she brushes her tears away.

The concern is immediate as he walks over to her, where her hands are bracing herself on the table, catching her breath.

“Contessina,” he murmurs, coming up behind her, “what happened?”

“Nothing.” She bites back at him, refusing to look back, refusing to move at all. “Go back to your work, my love.”

For a moment he thinks of giving her what it is she desire, but doesn’t. His hand ends up on her arm as he peers to see the tears pooling, the frustration in her eyes something she usually only gts with him. It’s hardly a mystery who the culprit is, only what was said to make his pregnant wife as upset as she is. “What did my mother say?”

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with.” She dismisses as she turns to see him, forcing a smile upon her lips. “You,” she whispers, running the back of her hand against the growth of his beard, “get so much from your mother.”

He doesn’t think she means that as compliment. His eyes shift down. “Perhaps you should rest until dinner.”

“Of course.”

He never does find out what exactly is said from either his wife or his mother. Only _politely_ reminds his mother she cannot take her grievances of him out on her. His cheek is red for a good hour after that and when his father doesn’t reprimand him for the words he knows she never tells him.

* * *

It’s the first cool day coming off of the hot summer when she goes into labor and sends Cosimo into a worry he has never experienced before. He is banned from the room and despises it, cannot understand why anyone would agree to such a thing. He has seen all parts of her, knows her body as well as he knows his own, and yet, it is as if it something _improper_.

He spends the morning in prayer once he cannot take more of her screams, all too aware of just how dangerous this moment is. If he loses her...he doesn’t know. She is a pillar he has gotten used to being there. She offers advice when he doesn’t want or need it. She whispers to him when she thinks he has fallen asleep. They’ve grown closer over the past months and if he loses her...if he has to be married to someone he thanks God it is Contessina.

Surely God knows that for how long he prays her life is spared and they have a healthy son.

His chair outside of the room is left exactly where it was and he sits in it. She screams again and he has half a mind to open the door and go inside.

“She can do this.” His father tells him as he clasps a hand on his shoulder. “She has all she needs.”

“Are you certain?”

When his father doesn’t answer the truth is known.

He waits and waits.

Until it goes quiet. It’s too quiet for his own good and the sound of a cry hitting the air brings him a calm.

It’s another half hour before the door opens his mother comes out, nodding for him to walk into the room.

His son is placed in his arms immediately. She was right, he is a boy. A smile too wide comes over him as he looks down at the boy that will grow up to be the future of the Medici family. A beautiful son that his wife gave him, something that causes his heart to swell in ways he never thought possible. If he was ever going to cry it would be that moment.

His eyes find his wife who is laying there, exhaustion covering her, looking up at him. “Piero de’ Medici.”

“Piero de’ Medici.” He confirms as he keeps the buddle close, kissing her forehead. “Thank you, Contessina.”

* * *

Their son is a month old when it is the two of them alone. The rest of the family went off to mass for the day, but Contessina had not done her churching, leaving herself home. Normally he finds himself with them, leaving her with the servants and their son, for some alone she says she enjoys.

He has no reason to doubt her.

But he wishes for a moment alone with her and her son, finding them in her chambers as she sits on the bed, nursing him. He smiles at the sight, just barely, as he walks into the room, taking a seat on the edge of the bed with the small box in his hand.

“What do you have there?” She asks, suspicion clear in her voice, eying the small box before looking at him.

“It’s for you.” He states as he opens it up to reveal the cross inside. “I know being a Medici can be trying on occasion, but I hope you know how much I cherish you as my wife. You have given me the greatest gift and while nothing compare to our son or what you had to endure to bring him into this world I hope you will wear it.”

“Of course I will, Cosimo. I will never be without it.”

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr.](http://laurelsalexis.tumblr.com/)


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